Running with the Wolves
by Shadow Wolphe
Summary: When Captain Jacob McLan finds a teen wandering in the woods, he takes him in and teaches him the way of the Silver Wolves. Evan now has to deal with a looming threat to humanity, as well as unlock the door to his memories.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: JKR is god of the Harry Potter universe; I'm just the janitor, cleaning up her mess.

Summary: When Captain Jacob McLan finds a teen wandering in the woods, he takes him in and teaches him the way of the Silver Wolves. Evan now has to deal with a looming threat to humanity, as well as unlock the door to his memories.

Author's Note:

Prologue:

The alley was shrouded in shadows, the sun just setting in the distance. In the city around it, shopkeepers made their last rounds in their families business as the night life of London started its slow awakening. During the day, the city would be filled with the sounds of birds in the parks, people walking to and from anywhere, and more than a few drivers stuck in traffic. Yet it was at night when the city truly came alive. Bars and clubs opened their doors wide, offering new people and patrons a night to remember. Restaurants filled with eager people, some dressed in fine clothing, dining where even a reservation might not be enough to ensure a meal; and others in rags, staggering to the bar where they could drink away their problems with other patrons. Yet all the people on the streets were filled with one thing: anticipation, for a night of revelry.

All but one teen.

The teen in question slipped into an alley, his breathing short and uneven. Ducking behind a few boxes, he silently watched the alleyway entrance for his pursuers. After several minutes, he relaxed, slipping into a doorway. Finding it locked, he untied the knot to a pouch on his jeans, unrolling it to reveal a professional locksmith kit. No doubt it was probably illegal, but the teen couldn't possible have cared less at the moment. Slipping the pick in, he quickly scrubbed the lock, a technique he had found at the library, and was surprisingly quite efficient at. Slowly opening the door, so as not to allow it to squeak and give him away, the teen slipped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. A quick glance showed that the room was empty save for a table and a few chairs. Taking one, he shoved it up against the door, and then overturned the table to give him some cover. With that done, the teen leaned back against the underside of the table, thinking back to what had brought him to here.

_

* * *

_

Coming back from the train station, the teen noticed his uncle being unusually quiet. Yet he thought it was simply because of the warning his relatives were given at the station, and was simply happy that he could mourn his godfather's passing in peace.

* * *

Recalling his godfather, the teen sighed mournfully. Though he had finally realized it wasn't his fault, he still felt the loss quite keenly. He remembered finding that his uncle had been fired for embezzlement, and was facing charges. His uncle had come home drunk every night, and the only thing that kept his aunt, cousin, and him from leaving was that they simply weren't able to on their own. His own decision was made one night.

* * *

_The teen heard the front door slam, and sighed. His uncle was in a bad mood today, and he knew what would happen. Normally, Vernon would storm upstairs, yell at Petunia, and then come and threaten him for a while. The teen knew that he was expected to cringe and shake, and so he did, all the while waiting for the chance to escape. His school things were already packed, he had enough muggle and magical money to get to the Leaky Cauldron, and he knew what to do from there. He had planned for a week._

_Yet he had forgotten about Murphy's Law, and that seldom do plans work out how they are supposed to. It turned out that Petunia had the same plan he had, but was caught in the act of leaving. Not knowing this, the teen did not expect what happened when Vernon came into his room. The door had burst open, the first thing that screamed _something is wrong_, but he didn't notice until he was picked up by the neck and slammed into the wall. His breath was knocked out of him by sheer surprise, and by the time he realized the danger, he was thrown onto the ground and kicked in the ribs._

* * *

Recalling the injury, the teen ran his hand over his ribs, wincing at times as he touched a sore spot. Luck had kept them from breaking, but they were still quite tender. Moving from his ribs, he checked the rest of his injuries. His arm had been broken by a cricket bat, his shins were bruised by the same, and he had suffered a mild concussion from his head slamming into the bedpost. There were many others, though they were mostly superficial and had healed over easily.

Petunia had found him after that session, lying in his own blood and shards of glass, shivering and shaking as he curled in the fetal position. The sight must have been quite horrifying to see; by the way her face went from pasty white to a nauseous green. Vernon had been proud of his work, and brought Dudley by to show him "How the freaks should be treated". Yet Dudley had reacted worse than Petunia, and practically ran from the room, his retching reaching even the teen's ears. It was the day afterwards when Vernon had left that Petunia and Dudley came for him. He was barely cognizant of their presence, but apparently Petunia had made her mind up when she saw him so helpless, and decided to help the last reminder of her sister, who was through everything still her sister, and took him to the hospital, checking him in under the name of Evan, in honor of her past life, a better time when she had her sister and parents.

After being released from the hospital, he immediately took about half of his vault money, converted it to pounds, and went off in search of them. When he finally found them, Dudley was employed as a bouncer for a nightclub, and Petunia was working nights as a barkeeper, yet they still lived in a rundown apartment. When the teen showed up, he was half expecting to be turned away, or at the very least yelled at for making them suffer like this. But he was accepted inside, and given some food. Thankful for their kindness, he gave them the money, easily ten million pounds, and told them they deserved better after what they had gone through. He had declined their offer to live with them, but stayed for a while at their insistence, deciding to help them move to their new house.

In addition, their stay in the seedier side of society was changing them drastically. Dudley had lost almost all of his fat from not having enough to eat, and was quickly gaining muscle to replace it. Gone was his whale of a cousin, Dudley now was a lean, muscular, and thoughtful young man. In addition, he was working harder on his studies, knowing that the money wouldn't last forever, and was improving his intelligence quite rapidly. The teen quickly found he wasn't the only one to notice, if the sidelong looks from girls were any indication. Yet while the Dudley of yesteryear would have capitalized on this as soon as possible, the new and improved Dudley was almost indifferent, stating to the astounded teen that he wanted to get to know them first, and so hopefully not get a bitch.

Petunia had changed as well, though hers were not as much of body and more of attitude. Due to working in one of the seedier bars, she was exposed to the worst of debauchery, language, and immodesty. Though this had, at first, only reinforced her stance on being proper, she had eventually realized that those she considered inappropriate and uncouth in her previous life were actually somewhere in the middle, neither stuck up, as she had been, nor rowdy, but rather fun loving yet responsible people. As she became used to this fact, Petunia had started to change her mood and loosen up, changing her clothes from prudish dresses with absolutely no imagination to t-shirts and denim jeans. She had also let her hair loose, got a tan, quit putting on her overzealous make-up, and started working out. Though she looked younger with the superficial changes, the largest factor was her attitude. Gone was the frown that had almost always marred her face, now she could be seen with a true smile, even a laugh. She seemed to be younger than the teen had ever seen her before, and he could only guess that this was what she had been like before she married Vernon. It was not uncommon to see her act twenty, humming along to the radio as she cooked in t-shirt promoting U2.

Sadly, the time the teen spent there had to be short, for though he had promised to visit from time to time, he didn't want to put them at risk. Therefore he had left, wandering around London and the surrounding towns for a while, before expanding his borders. The teen had been all over Great Britain, from Edinburg to Cornwall, before heading back.

* * *

It was earlier in the day he realized someone had been following him. He had been walking along the sidewalk when he saw a man who was terribly dressed in muggle clothes, an almost sure sign of a wizard. Being careful to keep at least one person between the two of them, he watched the man discreetly, and the longer he watched, the more convinced the teen was that he was being followed.

The man would occasionally look straight at him, breaking eye contact a second after. Yet the most alarming thing had been that when their eyes had accidentally met, the man looked at him with so much hate the teen was surprised he didn't fall over dead. Finally, he had ducked into an alley as the man was detained by a group of young women chattering excitedly. When the teen heard the screams, he forgot completely about maintaining a low profile, breaking into a sprint, his only thought to lose his pursuer. It seemed he had finally done just that.

Huddling behind the table, the teen started at the sound of a rat squeaking near his left shoe. With reflexes honed from grabbing the snitch, his hand shot at the rat, catching it behind the neck. He looked down at the front right paw, catching a glimpse of something shiny. He looked closer, and saw a sharp piece of wire stuck in its paw. Almost imperceptibly, he relaxed, taking his hand away from his pocket, where it had unconsciously moved to. He brought his fingers up to the paw, taking hold of the wire and slowly pulling it out. Once finished with it, he looked at the foil, seeing how it almost glowed in the shaft of light coming down. The teen almost threw it away, but felt oddly drawn to it for some reason. Shaking his head, he turned back to the rat, which was not squeaking, but rather looking at him with grey eyes that were almost human in their intensity. The teen once again shook his head to clear his mind, turning to the wound. He tore a piece of his shirt off and made it into a strip, then wrapped it carefully around the wound. Once finished, he looked at the animal, once again drawn to its eyes.

"That should help," the teen whispered to it, and then let his head fall back to laugh softly.

"Imagine, me talking to a rat as though it would understand me," he chuckled, shaking his head. Ron would think he had gone mental.

_But I do understand you._

The teens head shot up, staring at the rat. He wondered if he truly _had_ gone mental.

_Put your mind at ease, my friend, you are not insane._

"Are you kidding me?" The teen hissed. "I'm the one talking to a rat!"

The rat seemed to chuckle. _Ah, but that is where you are wrong._

"Wrong about what?"

_I am not actually a rat._

"Then _what _the hell are you?"

_I am a Shyfter._

"… a _what_?" the teen asked, more confused than ever.

_A Shyfter. I am able to choose any animal form, both magical and mundane. Currently, I am appearing to you as a rat, since this form would draw the most suspicion._

"So how are you able to talk to me?"

_There is a bond between you and me, as you saved my life just now._

"Me? But I didn't do anything!"

_Remember the wire you pulled out?_ The Shyfter asked. At the teen's confused nod, it continued. _It is also a Shyfter, yet it can only work in the hands of the one chosen, and is deadly to all else._

"So, I was chosen by it?"

_Correct._

"But it hasn't changed shape at all!" the teen said, grasping at straws to be able to get out of his predicament.

_That is because you haven't told it to. Try and you will see._

The teen reached back into his pocket, his hand brushing against the wire. He pulled it out and looked at it closely. Though metal, it was warm to the touch, and seemed to thrum in synch with his heartbeat. Suddenly, an image came unbidden to his mind, and he looked down to see the wire change into the very same thing in his image. It was a sword, able to be wielded comfortably two handed or one. The sword was actually as light as the wire had been, letting him lift it easily. The teen studied it for a moment. Now it was larger, he could see that the sword did indeed glow, and had markings along the blade. He turned to the rat questioningly.

"What are these things?" he asked, pointing to the etchings.

_They are runes, signs of power. It is these that give it the ability to change shape. I think, however, that you are privileged, as you are the first to see its true form in over a century._

"Can it be split?" the teen questioned, thinking that it would be incredibly useful as a pair of knives.

No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than the sword morphed again, this time splitting into two wicked knives, perfect for concealment along his arms. At another thought, there were two sheaths running along his arms, though they were almost indistinguishable from his skin.

Sliding the knives into their respective sheaths, the teen looked back down at the rat.

"So what's _your_ real form?" he asked.

Instead of answering, the rat started to change, but in a different way than the sword. While the sword glowed brightly enough that you couldn't see the actual morphing, the rat gave off no such glow, and so the teen saw every change. The hind limbs became larger, changing to muscled legs with two joints. The front paws grew lengthier, changing to match the hind legs in structure and muscle. The scaly tail sprouted fur and lengthened, growing spikes at the tip. The fur grew all over the body, with that on the back lengthening more and hardening some, creating a spiked look in one direction. The head, however, was the most striking change, with the nose and mouth shooting out from the face and the canines growing, while the eyes became slanted and the ears pointed and alert. When the change was finished, in front of the teen sat a wolf-like creature the size of a small car.

The teen froze, in a combination of shock and fear, though he would deny it later, as he stared at the Shyfter.

Eventually he regained his voice, and managed to ask, "What the _bloody_ hell are you?"

Tilting its head sideways in apparent confusion, the creature replied, _I am a Shyfter._

The teen spluttered for a second before he was cut off by a laugh sounding in his head. Snapping his head towards the Shyfter so fast he cramped it, he noticed a look of extreme amusement on its face, which simultaneously embarrassed him for his question and disturbed him, for amusement on a wolf looks far different than on a human. It went on to say, _My original form is a Dire Wolf, a species of magical wolf that is almost extinct now._

The teen blinked, stared at the Shyfter, and blinked again. Finally he did what any normal person would have done as soon as a rat talked to them in their mind, and fainted dead away.

* * *

He came to about a minute later and abruptly sat up and looked at the Shyfter in suspicion.

"Let me get this straight. You expect me to believe that _two_ Shyfters are now, for all purposes, my companions, and that your original form is an extremely rare animal?"

_Yes._

The teen snorted in disbelief. "Excuse me if I don't trust you immediately."

_Trust, while helpful, is not necessary for me to be your companion, nor should you trust a voice in your head. All I ask is a chance._

"Fine, you can come with me." _Even though I'll probably end up killed the first night._

_Even if I wished to kill you, it would be impossible due to the prophecy._

The teen jerked back in astonishment. _Did that thing just read my mind?_

_Yes._

_Well, fuck._

Then the teen realized what was said. "Wait, how do you know about the prophecy?"

_The same way I knew what you were thinking._

"…Oh."

The teen quickly checked his watch, noting the time.

"Alright, turn back to a rat and let's get out of here. We've spent too long already."

* * *

A few minutes later saw the duo opening the door and darting out to shelter behind a stack of boxes. After a few seconds, the teen prepared to exit into the now darkened street.

A noise from the other end of the alley caused the teen to stiffen in fear, his head shooting up and his eyes and nostrils dilating as he tried to make out what had caused it.

After several moments of tense silence, he allowed himself to relax slightly, not taking his eyes off the entrance.

Just when the teen decided it was safe to go, he heard voices coming closer.

"Surely the boy can't have gone far, after what Draco said he looked like at Hogwarts," one voice said, aristocratic and superior. The teen caught his breath in surprise and anger. It looked like Lucius Malfoy had once more broken out of prison, thanks to the incompetent minister. The next voice, however, had him seeing red.

"Of course not, the tracking charm never lies," a woman's voice sniffed, belonging to the killer of his godfather and the torturer of Neville's parents. Bellatrix Lestrange.

He was so enraged that he missed most of the rest of the conversation, only snapping out of it when he heard two words.

"Found you."

His eyes widened. _Oh Shi-_

The alley suddenly lit up from the curses they sent towards him, with the teen trying to dodge and stay in cover the whole time. Suddenly he remembered about the form of transportation Dobby had used, being able to suddenly disappear from his house. He concentrated on trying to get away from there, not noticing the curse coming towards him. Just as the curse was about to strike him, the teen disappeared with a large bang.

The Death Eaters were astounded, not only had the boy been able to apparate, but he had gone through an Anti-Apparation ward as well. Subdued, they looked at one another, and then portkeyed back to their master in unison. None of them were looking forward to the meeting.

* * *

Meanwhile, a grove deep in a forest suddenly lit up, depositing a teen with messy black hair and tattered clothes in the now scarred center. The teen lay unconscious, not knowing that his memories were stripped from him, and he was now more alone than he ever had been before.

* * *

So, as I said, I just came up with this idea and decided to run with it. It's my first story, so I would appreciate feedback. The next chapter should be out within a couple of days, but the time between chapters might then stretch for a week or more.

Please Review

Wolphe


	2. Chapter 1

See the disclaimer in the prologue

This chapter is dedicated to Black Were-Dragon, the one person who gave me a positive response in the form of adding this story to his alerts list.

Now for Chapter 1 of

Running with the Wolves

* * *

The forest was still, the animals not yet awakened for the new day. The sun slowly rose over the horizon, sending piercing rays of red light through the trees and into a small clearing. Said clearing currently looked like a small war zone. A large crater sat in the center, surrounded by debris strewn around the clearing, while the trees along the edges had a piece of bark torn off or a limb broken due to the shockwave the previous night. And yet the most disturbing thing was not what it looked like, but how it felt. The area had held a feeling of power from the sudden discharge of energy the night before, yet recently a new sensation had emerged: sentience. This consciousness was understandably pissed at having been awoken from a long slumber, and the air hung in oppressive silence. Even the sun's rays, while welcoming the day around the grove, gave off a feeling of disturbed anger as they penetrated through the trees, which gnarled branches loomed ominously inward.

Yet the disturber of this consciousness lay unaware of the changes he had wrought and the being he had awakened.

He lay in the middle of the Grove (as it now referred to itself), within the core of the crater. He was young, no more than 15 years of age, yet his face, relaxed in deep unconsciousness, showed more worry lines than most people nearing the end of their lives. He was skinny, not so much as to be malnourished, but instead had a lean frame, one more common to warriors than mere schoolboys. His hair, black as a raven's feather, hung loosely around the face that was far too old for his body. And yet it was not this that saved him from being struck down where he was.

Nor was it his possessions. A plain, dark gray tunic was covered by a type of hooded cloak that reached only half way down his body. The lower half was covered by what looked to be a type of trousers that it vaguely recognized as jeans, something it had overheard during one of its lighter sleep periods. He had a pack that lay on the ground next to him, a stick held tightly in one hand, and an odd shaped seeing crystal that covered both of his eyes. But while some of the things were curious, none were striking enough to pique the curiosity of the Grove.

No, what caused its curiosity was the Feeling it received, not just from one source, but from several. The strongest Feeling was from the boy, calling back ancient memories of men who could tear down mountains with a wave of their hand, who could call down storms of fire from the sky, or who could converse with all manner of beasts and creatures. Yet the boy's Feeling was different, with an almost visible taint that spoke of evil located directly on his forehead, but contained from spreading. The Grove was very interested in finding out what had happened to cause this unbalance.

The next Feeling was concentrated in the bag, and brought to mind the Feeling of a creature, yet at the same time it was a human. While confusing enough in its own right, the Feeling of the Shyfter also connected to the Feeling of the boy through a small but bright line, signifying a type of connection. What type of connection, the Grove did not know, for it had withdrawn from the World of Men long ago, and its experience in such matters had diminished greatly.

The third and final Feeling was again tied to the boy, and was located around the upper two branches of his body. This in itself was odd, for no two Feelings were the exact same, and that knowledge led to the disturbing conclusion that whatever this thing was could multiply, possibly indefinitely. It also appeared to be sentient, but also inanimate, as though the thinking was done for it, and it just responded. This, combined with the evil presence sensed in the boy, was worrisome, and the Grove knew that it would have to take an active role in order to stop what could become a cataclysmic event. Briefly it toyed with the idea of destroying the boy before any harm could be done.

The boy stirred uneasily, perhaps due to the unconscious awareness that he was in danger. Immediately the Grove turned its attention away from such thoughts and to the boy who was starting to wake up.

* * *

The teen opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the sunlight from the dawn. He brought his hand up to shield his eyes, and looked around warily at his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was trees, and came to the conclusion that he was in a forest, though how he had gotten there was uncertain. He shrugged it off as a side effect of still being half asleep, and continued to take in the area. He suddenly noticed what he was in, and had he been standing, he certainly would have collapsed in sheer shock. As it was, he took a few moments to calm himself before pushing himself up into a seated position while staring around with wide eyes at the destruction that he had inadvertently wrought. As the teen slowly became more and more alert, he started to get the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. Turning around, he looked for the source of the feeling, only to realize that he was the only living thing in sight besides the trees, and trees couldn't watch someone, could they?

Becoming more uncomfortable by the second, he quickly got up before pacing around the clearing, trying to peer into the forest that was dark aside from a few shafts of light piercing through the canopy for someone or something. Finally, the feeling became too much for him to handle.

"Where are you? Show yourself!"

The loud cry brought nothing but silence, as though the shout had pierced something that was not meant to be broken. The uncomfortable feeling became pronounced, and took on threatening overtones. The trees, which before had simply stood at the edges, suddenly appeared to bend inwards, their branches looming like claws waiting to attack.

**What are you?**

The boy started, looking around wildly. "Wh-who's there?" he called nervously. Yet he only received the question again. Gathering his bravery, he stood up straighter and repeated "Show yourself, unless you're a coward."

Quickly, the menacing feeling that had been receding came back full force, and the voice continued in a far angrier tone.

**Few call me a coward, and those that do regret it dearly. Do NOT test me.** Then the feeling receded again and the voice continued. **Know that it is not I who am hiding, but you who cannot see.**

This revelation confused the teen, for he wasn't blind, yet no one was around him. The voice, sensing his confusion, clarified. **Seek not with your eyes, but with your magic, youngling.**

Still confused, the teen obeyed a great deal quicker than he would have had he known where he was and what was happening. Closing his eyes, he sent tendrils of magic out to feel, and found an entity, not in any of the trees, but floating above the crater that he had just recently vacated. It appeared as a glowing ball of energy, with threads extending from it to the trees around the edges.

* * *

The Grove watched with a small amount of amazement as the boy -no, for a boy would not have such an accord with his magic- let flow a few bright wisps of magic that proceeded to search the grove before finding it. Granted, the movements were jerky, but the human had great control over his magic for his age. It decided to proceed with less hostility, as he could be an able pupil for natural magic, one of the few that the Grove could control. It returned to its watch, waiting for the youngling's imminent questions.

* * *

The teen did not disappoint. As soon as his eyes snapped open, so did his mouth, and the questions came pouring out. "What are you? What are those things that connect you to the trees? How did I do that? What was that energy? Whe-"

**Patience, youngling. All will be explained. The explanation of what I am is a story that we could start now and still be at it until winter.**

At the last part, the teen suddenly thought of something, and opened his mouth to ask, before snapping it shut as the voice continued.

**As for the energy, that was what is sometimes called magic, and the threads connecting me to the trees are the same thing. Now, I believe you have another question?**

The teen, startled, opened his mouth and said "Yeah, how did you- never mind. Where are we?"

**We are currently in what used to be known as Scandinavia, towards the southern end.**

The teen opened his mouth to ask another question when a growl erupted from his stomach. Flushing, he mumbled an apology and started rooting through his backpack. He pulled out a bag of crisps and opened them before sitting down and taking a small bite of one, looking up at where the entity was as he did so. Before he could open his mouth, however, the voice started up again.

**Now, I have a few questions of my own. Firstly, who are you, and how did you get here?**

The teen started to respond, before closing it in confusion. He knew he had a name, but he couldn't remember it at all. Panicked now, the teen racked his brain, remembering pieces of lessons and parts of conversation, but nothing as to a name or, indeed, any personal life. He looked up and replied in a small voice "I-I can't remember. Anything. Not who I am or how I got here or- or anything."

Yet the voice seemed to expect this, and sounded oddly satisfied with it.** Then it is as I expected. No matter, it will come in time, and you will no doubt be more able to think without worrying about what is behind or what may come in the future.**

"But how-"

**Now is the time to listen, youngling.**

The teen obligingly snapped his mouth shut before looking back at the Voice's general area.

**I have sensed that you have a Purpose, a destiny, if you will. You also have potential for a certain magic that I may be able to help you with. Tell me, can you remember performing magic at where ever you were?**

The teen thought back, idly munching on a crisp as he tried to recall his first spell. Something about a floatin- that's it, a floating feather, _wingardium leviosa_, a troll knocked out in a bathroom- wait, what?

As the memories flashed in quick succession, he found himself getting a headache as every time the spell had been used came to his mind. A block of granite brought up to stop a flash of green light, a small ball stopped centimeters away from the ground, a person lifted into the air as men in masks laughed at her struggling. Soon he was kneeling on the ground, clutching at his head, as more flashes of memory came; some barely even a second long. Slowly, the pain receded, and he fell back, staring up at the sky that had begun to swim. He heard a voice in the distance, calling out, but he could not tell if it was aimed at him, and he would not have been able to answer no matter what. A face slowly swam into his vision, old and worried, before darkness fell over his eyes, and for the second time in as many days, the world faded to black.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a man sat behind the desk in the headmaster's office, waiting for a report on the boy's whereabouts. That man was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizangamot, Head of the International Confederation of Wizards, Defeater of Grindelwald, and the holder of a whole slew of other titles, not to mention the uncomplimentary names given by his enemies. However, today none of his titles seemed to be present, and had anyone seen him, they would have been astounded to see the most powerful light-oriented wizard looking so much like an old man. The twinkle that so often adorned his eyes was noticeably absent, and his face, which always seemed to have the mischievous look of someone who knows a great secret, had apparently aged overnight. The enigmatic smile was replaced by a frown, and his brow was furrowed in concentration.

The reason for this abrupt change in demeanor was the disappearance of one of his students. Ordinarily, this would not as affected him so, but the certain student missing just happened to be Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the only hope that the world had against Voldemort, and, if he was honest with himself, the boy he saw as his surrogate grandson.

The Order had first discovered him missing around two weeks after he had been sent back to the Dursleys, and quickly found where he was, but as he had been recovering in the hospital, they deemed it better to leave him in peace.

That had been their first mistake.

Next, they followed Harry to his Aunt's and Cousin's flat in London, and, thinking he was safe again under the wards, Dumbledore decided to pull everyone back and let Harry stay where he would, no doubt, be safe.

That had been the second mistake.

Even though everything was deemed fine, the Order still kept up a guard upon Harry, and so Dumbledore was immediately alerted when Harry left the flat. They followed him all around the city and country, not interfering, but keeping an eye out for anyone who could mean harm. However, nothing had happened during the first few weeks, and became lax.

That had been their third and last.

For some reason, Harry had been spooked, sensing an enemy nearby. He was amazingly skilled at evading pursuit, and lost not only his pursuer but the Order guard as well. Yet somehow, he had been tracked down, and from the sight of the surrounding area, had been put through one hell of a fight. But when the Order had arrived, there was no one there, and Severus had reported that Voldemort had been enraged, dispelling the possibility of Harry being in his custody, which had instilled conflicted emotions in Dumbledore. Relief, because the boy was not in any danger from Voldemort, and anxiety, because if he was not with Voldemort, then they had no idea where he was, and while he might not be in any danger from Voldemort, there were certainly other things that could pose just as much, if not more danger to him.

And so it led to this. Alastor had just firecalled, reporting absolutely no new leads, not that he had expected anything to show up this soon. It would require a much more thorough inspection before they had even a vague outline of what had happened.

Dumbledore took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before sighing and moving over to the window. The grounds were a beautiful sight at any time, but even more during the evening, when the sun was setting over the mountains in the distance, sending rays of light dancing across the lake, while the sky itself looked to be on fire. It was a calming and aweing sight, but as Albus Dumbledore stood at his window, only one thought was going through his mind.

_Where are you, Harry Potter?_

* * *

AN: My god, it's been that long already? What the hell happened to the time? Ah well, that's what happens when I get no reviews and only one alert. Seriously people, I've had at least 80 hits on this story, but I have no idea whether they liked it or if they couldn't get past the first paragraph. I had one piece of positive feedback. One. That's it. I need reviews. Reviews make me work faster. Review. Please. Now.

Wolphe


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